Kissing in the Rain
by alixxblack
Summary: Hermione loves running to the Owlry when its raining because it smells so sweet, and nobody will catch her. Or so she thought. Then suddenly a possible romance literally falls into her as she races to collect herself on her mail run.


Disclaimer: I am Ali not JKR. I didn't write Harry Potter, nor did I publish. This legally means I don't own the rights to these characters, plot similarities of the published work, nor the ideas conveyed in this piece. I simply am not the brilliant, I don't think. I try to be sometimes! Enjoy, please, thank you, you're welcome : )

It was raining so hard anyone could have been blinded by it. It was unfortunate because fall rain always seemed to be the messiest, wet leaves seemed to be coated onto everything outside. As well as that, people would often come in and have to change their robes due to the mud and leaves. It was not one of Hogwarts best sights, not in this season, but it never displeased everyone.

In fact, these were the days Hermione found herself running to the owlry so far away from the castle. She knew nobody would be around to distract her and it smelled so fresh outside. The air was thick with moisture and a faint flowery scent, reminiscent of the flowers that were bound to die with the summer temperatures. On this day she sported a pair of yellow rain boots, hopefully in replacement of the blotted sun behind the smoky grey clouds, over skinny jeans a maroon sweater. And, never forgetful of her house pride, a Gryffindor tailored scarf! She stuffed her folded letter into the depths of her front pocket, after placing a charm on it to waterproof it. She was ever protective of her letters to home. She concealed a side of her that only her parents could understand, as only they knew who she was entirely.

Hermione was nothing alike the girl Harry Potter and Ron Weasley fashioned of her, and even less so the way everyone else envisioned her true personality to be. She was actually serene, joyful, relaxed, and most importantly, she was just as girly as anyone else. At home she worried about her make-up when she left the house; made sure her clothes didn't make her look fat, she read the fashion magazines and the latest young adult fiction novel. She was, in fact, and insufferable know-it-all, as Snape had told her in her third year of studies at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. That was partially why she wanted to fit in so badly when she first started, because despite how normal she was her intelligence was far too much for anyone to deal with. Nobody wanted their parents comparing their own child's capabilities to hers, which was always so far above that of the others her age.

She did this to no avail, of course, because she'd only grown more logical and insufferable, more so with each passing year. Sometimes she lost sight of who she was deep down, but she was too prideful and strong to let anyone know this weakness growing in her heart. To show weakness would meant she faltered. Everyone knew, even if they didn't know it happened sometimes, that Hermione could not stand to be wrong or seen as 'insufficient.' Harry and Ron knew especially well.

The rain beat down against her hood, which was mostly drenched when she finally pulled it over her now-limp locks of hair that were clingy desperately to her cheeks, which must have been flushed of color in the cool atmosphere. Instead of panicking she curled her arms over her almost-there chest and started jogging, there was no need to outrun the rain, as it wasn't heading anywhere any time soon.

In this past letter she told her parents that Umbridge was a dreadfully incapable teacher. She explained that their Magical government entity was beginning to interfere within the education system, attempting to close the school down. She obviously assured them of the incapability, since she knew her parents well enough to effortlessly be keen to their overprotective nature. She still remembered how defensive and careful they had been when they first came to Diagon Alley with her, but there was reason to be. Today, though, they still had reason, maybe even a better one. Hermione wouldn't let them know this, however, because it risked her likelihood of returning next year.

She was surprised at the ground she had already covered, she nearing the steps to the owlry already. She paused and jogged in place, spinning to assure herself that she hadn't been set amiss to her destination, but there she was, indeed, coming up on the towering wall of enclosed, hallow stone. She could even hear faint hoots. She bet Hegwig would be there waiting. She was grateful that Harry shared her, but someday she would need to get her own owl to transport her mail.

Coming back to reality was easy, the rain was much too irresistible to abandon for excessive periods of time. Surely she would have to sit and watch the grounds from the tower. Nature was beautiful, as cheesy as it sounded in her hear. "Only painters say those types of things," Hermione giggled out loud, orally addressing her inability to progress in anything artistic, "No different than Divinations, right? You have to use your _inner eye_ which I must not have." Laughter erupted from her mouth as a cackle, nearly alike Lupin's howl to fellow werewolves.

Her self-bashing sarcasm was rudely interrupted when she started up the second tier of stairs and she tripped. It wasn't that she missed a step, or even slipped, but because a mass of black came tumbling down the steps at her. She didn't see it quickly enough to react properly. Instead, the body flew into her, and the both of them continued to fall backwards until they landed in a small puddle of mud and leaves. It was without saying that she would have to change once her letter was sent flying.

"Are you alright, that was a nasty fall." She was only doing the polite thing, unaware that anyone could have been behind the hood of that cloak. She reached down and pulled the person up, but could tell by the way their hands connected that it was a boy. Plus, no girl she had ever been in contact with had hands as cold as a reptile's scaly skin.

"You best watch yourself next time, Granger." And it was the infamous Draco Malfoy, looking desperately frustrated that he had caused the accident and owed some sort of gratitude to someone that he probably hated more than Harry Potter. At least Harry had more magic blood than not, which put Hermione at the very bottom of his list, or top, depending on the title of said list. She wasn't going to take his bullying in stride, not this time.

"Say thank you!" She demanded, the rain picking up instantly. She couldn't see him, but she heard his breathing, it was heavy. Almost worried, even, which made Hermione a bit guilty; she felt guilty of everything.

"Not a chance, Granger!" But he was nearer, she felt the heat of his anger on her arms. Something compelled her to reach forward and yank his robes, praying to get him close enough to see his face. She needed to see his reaction when she demanded politeness for a second time.

The tug, pull, angry recovery, whatever it was intended to be switched in purpose once Draco's proximity to Hermone was more than desired. Suddenly the anger of the incident melted, washed rather, away and revealed the individuals in a new light.

"I think you should thank me. I did cushion your fall, and that's nothing much to say. I'm all skin and bones." And she quickly cast 'Episky' at his slashed cheek bone. The cut repaired instantaneously forcing Draco Malfoy to grin.

"I appreciate your valiant effort, but I'm afraid it wasn't enough." It was no smirk alike his other smug grins, not one of bullying or victory. This one was flirtatious, and though Hermione was no romance expert, not in experience, she could see it all over his face. That was classic Draco Malfoy, and she knew it well enough.

"Get away from me, you git." This was yet another demand yipping from behind her teeth. Maybe she was unpleasant, as some rumors had proclaimed about her. She didn't allow for many deviations from her expectations. How could she, though, when she was so similar to perfection. She was modest, but even she couldn't deny her constant performance that was glistening without error.

"Come closer." It was a dare. Was it? It wasn't, but it could have been, couldn't it? The sky turned a deeper silver, borderline coal black. She was out to deliver a letter, she needed to break away before the rain turned into a disastrous storm.

Oh, but wasn't there already a storm sending twisters of flattery through her stomach? She shook her head, but before she could escape, "I thought I told you to do something." Hermione was not about to let him, a slimy, sick, and arse of a Slytherin order her around like some sort of a maid.

"What are you trying to accomplish?" The words were silence, though, when he leaned in just enough to brush his nose to her. That was just enough to spark her interest because she flew into a kiss. A horrid, treacherous, pleasant, delightful, and delicious, and hellish of a kiss with a dreadful sort of boy; Draco Malfoy! Hermione was touching her lips to his, willingly. She was a traitor, oh how she was breaking the rules. She never did this. Draco pulled away, though, as if he read her thoughts.

"But I do."


End file.
